Belle Randall

On opening a long unopened book, What dank whiff rises from the parting pages, What genie is released, what dark spell broken, As if some warm breath trapped inside for ages Were by a daylight glance set free? Your father’s hand has jotted in the margins Its own blunt text of what must be . . . . Continue Reading »

The Scratch machine dispenses funin little pictures. You choose oneas flat and bright as a cartoonof GI Joe and his platoon.When no one sees, you take a shotand feed the only bill you’ve gotthat’s crisp enough into the slotAnd then just stand there,deep in the thrall of a riddle, a . . . . Continue Reading »